


Yes, Professor

by glacis



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:52:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione returns from holiday and Harry gets an idea.  Who knew playing with dolls could be such fun?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Professor

Yes, Professor, by seeker.  Hermione returns from holiday and Harry gets an idea.  Written for the Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest (Snape/Harry, a variation on scenario 105. Sympathetic Magic)

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; 

The doll gave him the idea.

Hermione bubbled about her family's holiday in Egypt the entire trip. Even on an Express train, that made for an impressive amount of bubbles. Ron, being hopelessly in love with her, was content to listen to the sound of her voice.

Harry, on the other hand, much as he loved both of them, was bored out of his skull after the first hour.

He could have looked up Malfoy and started, or finished, or continued a fight. He could have gorged himself on sweets from the sweet trolley -- although as a seventh year student, he really was getting past the age when escaping chocolate frogs and vomit-flavored jelly beans were entertaining. He could have broken out his broom and cleaned twigs, but that might have been construed as insulting by Hermione. Not to mention causing psychic dissonance in Ron, pulling him between the twin lures of Hermione breathing and a new broom/Quidditch discussion that was bound to bore 'Mione as much as 'Mione was boring Harry.

Not the best way to maintain harmony between friends and lovers.

So Harry sat in his corner, tried to look interested, and tried not to fall asleep with his eyes open. The photos were nice, particularly the ones where the camels spat at him, but it wasn't until she pulled out the doll that Harry came back to the conversation with a thump.

"It's a representation of King Khafre, the pharaoh who was the incarnation of the falcon-god Horus forty five hundred years ago. When we visited the temples at Giza --"

Her voice faded out as he stared at the figure, no more than six inches high. It was made from some sort of pale stone, with inlaid onyx for a beard and eyes, and what looked like a black headscarf falling down to its shoulders that, when Harry squinted, looked a lot like straight black hair. It had high cheekbones and a narrow face and a nose that would make a hawk blush.

Altogether, from the pale cheeks to the sharp nose to the black eyes, it reminded him unnervingly of Severus Snape.

The uncanny similarity was made moreso by the utterly bizarre reaction his body had to it. His palms started to sweat. His jeans got altogether much too tight. His neckline was suddenly much too small.

It was staring at him.

He reached for it without a word, and Hermione, deep in some tale of sand and scorpions and ancient books, let him have it without pausing her torrent of words. Ron still nodded vacantly at every word she said, and she was too busy staring back into his eyes to notice when Harry, blushing furiously, placed the little figurine in his lap.

And came in his pants.

Too stunned to move or make a sound, all he could do was huff in a huge breath. 'Mione glanced over at him.

"Are you quite all right, Harry? You look a bit flushed."

Before he think of anything to say, the porter called time to gear up as they were close to final stop at Hogwarts. To his immense gratification, the robes covered the wet spot.

To his even greater gratification, 'Mione didn't ask for the doll back.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; 

The first few weeks of the new term passed in the usual blur. Greeting new faces, old friends and enemies, getting back into the swing of things. Harry didn't think much about the doll. Except ... every time he walked into Potions class.

Snape was as snarky as always, but for some reason, Harry didn't mind. Mainly because he was falling into Ron's habit of hearing the voice and not the words. He wasn't sure what that said about his relationship with Snape, at least in his own mind, and he didn't want to think about it, so he didn't. Snape did, after all, have an amazingly sensuous voice. Not that he'd call it sensuous to anyone else. But it worked.

The first time Snape snapped at him and took points off, as was his wont, Harry nodded, gave him a slow smile, and said, "Yes, Professor."

Snape stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nothing happened. Harry smiled steadily at him.

"Suffer brain damage over the summer, Potter? Or has it simply rotted away from lack of use until there's nothing left between your ears but hair roots?"

Harry kept smiling. Snape's eyes narrowed, his mouth pinched, and he looked mildly pissy and even more mildly alarmed.

As the days went by, and the smile never wavered, the pissiness was overtaken by the alarm, which progressed geometrically until Snape actually stopped snarking at him. For the most part.

Harry still smiled.

If his new attitude spooked his professor, his friends found incomprehensible (Ron) and a vast improvement (Hermione). The Slytherins as a whole thought it was typical Gryffindorian stupidity except for those who were convinced it was some sort of plot (Malfoy) or mind game (Malfoy again). Harry ignored the Slytherins, which really confused them, patted Ron vaguely and thanked Hermione, which confused both of them.

None of them knew what he got up to out in the broom shed. And none of them realized it was working.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt; 

Harry stared at the little doll, now dressed in a tiny black robe pinched from a souvenir Hogwarts graduation doll Harry bought for that very reason. The robe had a little tiny Slytherin snake on it. It went very well with the doll's black eyes and black hair and hook nose. Particularly with the little tiny cauldron Harry'd bought during a Saturday trip to Hogsmeade. He refused to admit even to himself that he was hiding in the broom shed playing with his doll.

The rest of the Quidditch team thought he was spending a lot of extra time with his broom. They understood perfectly. His teachers looked upon him spending all his free time in the broom shed as a solitary lad trying to find some quiet time, perfectly in keeping with his pattern of behavior for the past six years. His enemies thought he was dabbling in something they should know about, but the wards kept them out, which really pissed off Malfoy. His friends thought he had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or a consenting magical creature, and teased him unmercifully about being so secretive about his sex life.

Little did they know he was sitting in the back corner of the shed, hidden behind a pile of Quidditch equipment, staring at a little Snape doll and jerking off. And he wasn't about to tell them.

One evening he lay panting, having magicked away the mess, and stared at the doll, who stared right back at him. It struck him that the high collar looked uncomfortable, so he reached over and very carefully broke the threads holding the collar closed. The robe fell open, showing a tiny portion of chest and baring the doll's little throat.

"There, that's better, now isn't it?" Harry asked quietly, feeling silly, but saying it anyway. "Give you some breathing room."

He tucked himself away, straightened his clothing, carefully packed the little Snape doll away in a fully-warded, hexed safe hole beneath the floorboard of the shed, and wandered back to the dorm to go to bed.

The next day in Potions, he sat frozen to his chair as Snape swept into the room.

For the first time Harry could remember, Snape didn't have his robe buttoned clear up to his chin. Nor was his shirt collar wrapped around his neck. In fact, collar and robe were both unbuttoned a good five inches, showing off an incredibly long white neck, the shadow of the hollow of his throat, a hint of collarbone, and a tantalizing glimpse of crisp curly black chest hair.

Harry was so hard he couldn't sit still. No one else seemed to notice the change, but every time Snape moved his head, Harry's eyes were riveted to his throat. The pulse moving the thin skin, the fresh-cream color of it, begging to be lapped like a cat at a bowl.

A starving cat.

Then Snape swept over to rant at Harry for not paying attention. He stood right over Harry, hair swinging over the opened collar, ends getting caught, and Harry could see a tiny way down the front of Snape's shirt when he leaned against the table to point at the lack of progress Harry was making on his potion.

"Yes, Professor," Harry whispered.

Snape's jaw snapped shut. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he glared suspiciously at Harry.

"Yes, what, Potter?" he growled, low in that lovely throat.

Harry shivered. "Whatever you want," he answered honestly.

Snape blinked. Shook his head slightly, glared again, opened his mouth, then shut it. Opened it again to say, "Ten points from Gryffindor for your utter ... distraction," and Harry knew he'd been about to say stupidity, but from the way Snape was looking at him, also knew Snape knew it was deeper.

Thankfully, class ended shortly thereafter, and Snape didn't give him detention. He did, however, watch Harry all the way out the door.

The next few days were uneventful. Harry paid attention, as much as possible, but Snape kept coming into class with his collar open, and that made it bloody hard. Made Harry bloody hard, too, but he was getting used to wanking three times a day since he'd first caught sight of Snape's throat. One thing the open collar did, though -- it gave him the idea to experiment.

He couldn't do much with the doll itself, since it was all one piece, but he looped a tiny bit of string around the back of the headpiece, as if tying back hair. The next day, not actually expecting much, he walked into Potions class.

Nearly fell off his chair when Snape came in with his hair caught at the nape of his neck with an emerald green ribbon.

Harry lost his concentration completely, and spent the entire class session mesmerized by the patch of skin below Snape's ear, bared by the hair pulled back from it. He wanted to nuzzle it. Lick it. Bite it. He growled.

Snape's eyes snapped to him and stayed. Harry rubbed his stomach. Snape raised a brow. Harry blushed.

"Miss breakfast, Potter?" Snape asked waspishly.

Lying through his teeth, Harry said softly, "Yes, professor." Answering a completely different question than what was asked.

That earned him a suspicious look, but he kept his expression as innocent as he could given that his mind was full of images of stripping Snape naked and licking him from ankle to chin. Eventually, Neville managed to screw up rather spectacularly, and Snape turned on him with apparent relief. Harry took a deep breath.

All right. Time to get creative.

Ginny was deeply into jewelry making, and it was the work of a moment to 'borrow' a couple tiny green beads from her bag of baubles. In the shed that night, Harry, laughing at himself the entire time, took a droplet of Twig Fixit Glue and attached one tiny green bead to the little Snape doll's left ear. He took the other tiny green bead, another droplet of glue ... and attached the bead to where the little Snape doll would have a navel, if it had one.

Grinning wickedly at his thoughts, he set the doll where he could see it with his glasses off, since they tended to steam over when he wanked, and opened his trousers. Half an hour later, hand sticky, panting and sleepy, he patted the little Snape doll on its new belly jewel and laughed. It was all so ridiculous.

It being Friday when the hair tie appeared, Harry didn't see Snape again until Monday morning, when he walked in for class. He'd had a long weekend full of study and Hogsmeade horseplay, and he hadn't thought about the changes he'd made to his little Snape doll since he'd made them.

Then he saw Snape.

Who, collar still undone, hair still tied back ... now sported a Slytherin-green crystal in the lobe of his left ear.

Harry moaned before he could stop himself. Snape's head turned, followed swiftly by his body, which then developed an unexpected hitch. Instead of flowing over to menace Harry as he always did, Snape winced slightly, his hand falling to his stomach, pressing very lightly over the center of his robes in a soothing motion. Harry fell onto his chair, mouth open, staring unblinkingly as Snape regained his momentum and strode over to loom.

"Was there something you wanted to say, Potter?" he purred.

For once, Harry varied his response. Breathily, he whimpered, "No, Professor." Couldn't do much else, really, since he was busy coming in his pants and his brains were draining from his balls. Snape hovered another moment, looking oddly indecisive, nostrils twitching. The faintest line of red colored along his cheekbones, and he tossed his head back, a standard move that, with the addition of all that SKIN now showing, was amazingly sexy.

Harry whimpered again. Snape glared down at him, then pivoted -- carefully -- and stalked back to the front of the class to begin the day's lesson. Harry, meanwhile, melted into a puddle in his chair and tried to remember how to breathe.

It worked.

It bloody well WORKED.

Oh, the possibilities.

If this had happened even a year ago, Snape's life would have been hell. He would have found himself sitting down to luncheon starkers for starters. Flapping like a chicken for the amusement of the first-years. Wearing nothing but a thong and a feather boa to class. Tap-dancing on the head table. Any number of humiliating, bizarre punishments for the years of harsh treatment Harry'd endured.

But it hadn't. It happened right when Harry realized there was nothing, and no one, in the world he wanted to do more than Severus Snape. So there were no chicken dances, no streaking, no table-dancing. Just ... skin.

And maybe ... a little play.

Harry managed to contain himself until the end of the week. Begging off another weekend in town, he waited until all was quiet, then snagged the doll from the shed, his invisibility cloak and a tin of cocoa butter from Dobby (who asked no questions), and crept silently down to the dungeon.

Snape was in his workroom, no ward or guardian at the door, since he used it as his office and Slytherin students were apt to wander in when they needed him. Harry cautiously took up a position in the corner where he could see but not within reach, in case Snape got suspicious and started grabbing air hoping for invisibility cloaks. He had an uncanny knack for knowing when Harry was around.

Not tonight. Tonight, Harry planned to keep him too busy to worry about it.

Courteously waiting until the potion Snape was brewing had been decanted into bottles, he pulled the doll from his pocket and very slowly turned it to face him.

Snape, looking confused, did the same.

Harry grinned. Adjusted a hard-on that threatened to preempt the proceedings, then very slowly began to peel the little Snape doll's robe off.

Five feet in front of him, a bemused expression on his face, the real Snape began to disrobe. Buttons flicked open, one at a time, hands working steadily. One shoulder free, the other, a graceful shrug, and the robe pooled at Snape's feet.

Not watching his hands, too intent on Snape to pay much attention, Harry's fingers smoothed over the surface of the doll. Mirroring his movements, Snape's hands came up to his shirt, fingers working the buttons free, then slipping it from his shoulders as well, letting it drop behind him. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

An emerald crystal, the match to the one in his ear, winked at Snape's navel.

Harry's thumb circled the center of the little doll, and Snape's hands did the same, running down over his chest, through the dark curls scattered there, catching on his nipples, pulling a gasp from him. Then further down, to touch the piercing at his navel very gently, the skin there obviously still tender. Further still, until fingers worked trousers open and pushed them slowly down long legs, skin the same cream color, the hair black and curly, thin on the thighs and heavier on the calves.

He wore black briefs. Worn and comfortable, cotton, showing every inch of him. Harry caught his lower lip between his teeth to keep from drooling. His thumb circled lower on the doll.

Snape's hands followed.

Standing there, clothing puddled around his ankles, hands rubbing along the erection causing an impressive tent in his shorts, Severus Snape was the sexiest damned thing Harry had ever seen. Without thinking, his fingers squeezed around the doll.

Snape gasped.

Spread his legs wider.

Pushed one hand down the front of his shorts ... and one down the back.

Harry couldn't actually see what Snape was doing, but the movements stretching the cotton were strongly indicative of practiced motion. Snape's head fell back, the ribbon falling away as he shook his head side to side, his mouth falling open. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths as his hands worked front and back. Harry bit his lip until he tasted blood, but he made no sound, and his hand rubbed and rubbed and rubbed the doll.

Until Snape came.

So did Harry.

Snape's legs gave out and he slid down the front of the worktable, coming to rest in a heap on his robes. The dim light played over the fine skin and trembling muscles, the hair spread over his shoulders, the long-fingered hands soothing over his chest and groin. Harry subsided into his own heap, rubbing at his cock through his trousers ... with the doll.

Snape licked his lips.

Looked directly at the spot where Harry sat, invisible under the cloak.

Puffing like a freight train.

Said, a little breathlessly, "Isn't it time you joined me?" Pushed the hair back from his face.

And smiled.

Harry dropped the invisibility cloak. On top of the doll. Brought the tin of cocoa butter. Half-walked, half-staggered over to where Snape sat. Fell to his knees in front of Snape.

Kissed him.

Snape kissed him back.

Things got a little hazy from that point. Having warm furry sweaty skin under his hands instead of a little smooth doll made a huge difference. Harry licked everywhere he could reach, and Snape let him, head falling back again as Harry made love to that throat, that wicked, long, creamy throat that had been taunting him in class. By the time he meandered from throat along collarbone up behind the ear, sucked on the earring long enough to make Snape buck beneath him, then wandered along the jaw back to that mouth, Harry was hard again.

Snape was half-way there.

Which made it perfect, because Snape could concentrate on Harry, and Harry could lose his mind, and by the time Snape swallowed Harry down and Harry came the second time, Snape was hard again, and ready for the cocoa butter.

Harry found himself on his hands and knees, padded by Snape's robe scrunched under them, as Snape made a feast of his arse. Having never realized that this was an option, the novelty of having a tongue in a place he seldom touched very quickly melted his brain down again. Even his recuperative powers weren't up to a third erection so fast, but that was just as well. Being so relaxed his body felt like a vat of wax was the perfect state for Snape to mount him.

Not exactly what he'd had in mind when he'd brought the cocoa butter with him, but the amused, husky "Ten points to Gryffindor for being properly prepared," as Snape took the tin from him, tossed the lid over his shoulder, slathered himself up and sank to the balls in Harry's arse made it all worth while. Then the world began to rock, and his prick dribbled uncontrollably, and Snape's hands had somehow gotten hold of his nipples, and he was learning all sorts of things about his body he'd never known before.

By the time Snape bit the back of his neck, twisted his nipples, and came inside him, Harry was in nirvana. The jewel in Snape's navel scratched the small of his back, Snape's fingers pinched his tits gently, and the prick still twitching up his arse gradually shrank until it slipped out. When it did, it was as if the last energy in their bodies slid away with it, and they collapsed together on the floor of the workroom.

Not wanting to move, Harry simply lay there, hands covering Snape's at his chest, arse nestled back against wet, hot groin, legs tangled together. Eventually, Snape dropped a kiss on his shoulder and sighed.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Harry?" Snape's voice sounded raspy, winded, and absolutely delightful.

Harry shivered. "I think this," he shimmied his hips, and Snape's breath caught, "pretty much says it all, wouldn't you say?"

After a long moment, Snape said, laughter lacing his voice, "Yes, Potter."

It was a very long time before either of them moved. When they did, they only made it as far as the bed. Sometime late Sunday night, Harry gathered up cloak, clothes, empty tin and doll, and staggered back to the Gryffindor dorm. As he left, Harry turned at the door and grinned lopsidedly at Snape, lying naked and tangled in the sheets.

"We'll take this up again next Friday, Mr. Potter," Snape purred. Harry's grin broadened.

"Yes, Professor!"

Face buried in Harry's palm, the doll smiled.

END


End file.
